Silver Spoon
by Miss British Teacakes
Summary: Yay! Another serial killer fic! Except this time, Cain finds out it's somebody in his own home. Who is stealing cutlery to kill with...and not the sharp cutlery, either. CainxRiff. Chap 13 edited, read before continuing on.
1. Soup

**Soup**

"One of the footmen is retiring, so he will have to be replaced. I thought maybe I would hire a new hall boy, and have one of the other boys train as a new footman instead."

Cain sank almost all the way into the bath, blowing bubbles in the water. He knew that his butler meant well, confirming the hiring of new servants with him, but it still bored him. He hated having to sit and listen to an agenda. Finally, he sat back up and turned to look at Riff.

"Do what you want," he said. "You know more about this stuff than I do. I trust you to do what's right."

"I understand, Sir," Riff said, smiling slightly. "I thought maybe I should warn you, though, about any new staff, so you don't get a shock at strange people walking around."

Cain smiled and leaned back into his bath again. It was just like Riff. No doubt he would review the kid as thoroughly as possible before hiring him, too. He would then refuse the boys that _did_ ask for a job, and offer it to a chimney sweep, because Riff knew that the kid wouldn't be in just to get close to Cain. That, and Riff saw it as giving the kid a leg-up, which probably wouldn't be too far from the truth.

There was a knock on the door to the bedroom, and Riff walked across the bathroom and into the next room to answer. Cain heard talking for a few moments, before Riff returned.

"Master Cain, there is somebody on the telephone for you," Riff said.

"You answer it," Cain said, before sinking down again.

"Very good, Sir."

This time the other man shut the bathroom door as well. Cain splashed around for a few minutes, before looking at his hands. He scowled slightly at his puckered fingers. He then tapped his foot on the bottom for a few minutes, sighing impatiently. It was boring being in the bath without Riff to talk to. It occurred to him what a strange thought this was, wanting another man in the room while he was sitting buck-naked in the bath. He dismissed this thought quickly, though, reasoning that as a noble he was simply used to it. It certainly didn't seem to affect _Riff_ in any way.

The door opened again, and his butler reentered, carrying a set of white towels with him.

"Master Cain, I'm afraid you must get out of the bath," he said.

"What?"

"That was Scotland Yard," Riff said, a slightly perplexed look on his face. "It was insisted that you go down immediately for questioning."

"Questioning?" Cain asked. "Questioning about _what_? I haven't been involved in anything…_unusual _for _weeks_."

"They said they couldn't disclose that information to me."

Cain sighed and stood. "Well," he said. "I guess there's not much I can do. Nowadays they don't have any qualms about arresting even nobles for 'resisting'."

* * *

"Now, usually we wouldn't hold onto a corpse longer than necessary for an autopsy—which we really didn't need in this case—but I thought it best that you take a look at it first," Detective Landor said, leading them into a room somewhat detached from the rest. 

"Do you usually ask other people to look at bodies?" Cain asked.

"Of course, no," Landor said, looking around. "However, this is a special circumstance. Besides, you are known to have a rather strong stomach."

The sheet over the corpse was pulled back, and Riff made a noise of disgust behind Cain. Even the earl flinched slightly. The man was slightly blue in the face. The mouth opened wide and bloodied around the lips, between which a silver soupspoon had been lodged.

"It was the spoon that _killed_ him," Landor said, avoiding looking at the cadaver by watching Cain. "It's jammed into the windpipe. I suppose the poor bugger suffocated…if that was the case, he didn't die immediately."

"Well," Cain paused. "I don't know how _I_ can help you."

"Look closer at the spoon."

Riff handed Cain a handkerchief over the shoulder, which he took and held to his nose. He then leaned closer to examine the spoon—at which point he got the real surprise: engraved on the handle was his family crest.

"This is…_mine_?" Cain said. "How did _this_ get here?"

"That's what I was hoping you could tell me," Landor said.

The earl and the detective both turned to look at Riff, who looked back at them with surprise.

"_I_ don't know," Riff said.

"Didn't you _notice_ that it was missing?" Cain asked.

"We don't count spoons, Sir," Riff told him, with a slight frown. "There are so many—and it wouldn't seem _that_ odd that one would go missing. Or rather, not in the same way than if a knife did—which, by the way, we _do_ count."

"But you have _access_ to the dinnerware," Landor said.

"As do twenty-five other people, if you leave out Lord Cain and Miss Merry," Riff said. "You _are_ aware that there are twenty-eight servants employed by Lord Cain, are you not? Even a _small house_, like the one that I work in, has a rather large staff."

Cain looked back at the corpse, a slight smile on his face. "Hm…death by spoon…I wonder what will happen next. Maybe we'll find a fork in somebody's eye."

"Master Cain, I would prefer if you _didn't_ joke about that kind of thing," Riff said, somewhat sourly. "Especially seeing as how it was somebody in our house that has killed this man. Who is he, anyway?"

"Christopher Freeman," Landor said, looking between Cain and Riff. "Let's just say he wasn't in the most noble of trades."

The walk home was a silent one. Cain wished that Landor had actually explained what he meant by "wasn't in the most noble of trades." He refused to acknowledge the whether he knew what he meant or not, as neither was a good idea—if he knew, then that meant he knew who Christopher Freeman was, which would lend even more suspicion. If he showed that he _didn't_ know, it damage his pride in knowing information. And, of course, the police would not be willing to give too much information to the press, which _could_ include the man's "occupation". And what was more, he couldn't very well go asking around about Freeman; both his Christian name and his surname were incredibly common, and people in the slums—Cain had no doubt that's where Freeman was from—were probably never keen on giving information to an earl. Cain wasn't so deluded that he didn't know the obvious disdain that the lower classes had for the upper class.

In the meantime, all he could do was keep a close eye on the staff, which he knew that Riff would be doing as well. Cain hated police as it was, and he wasn't about to let them go snooping around in his private business.

* * *

Notes: Okay, another stab at this fandom, only written when I thought of it, which helps the plot move along. Big time. So a rather strange friend of mind brought up the idea that anything could be used as a weapon. And yes, this story has my own morbid sense of humor shining through. Death by spoon. By the way, there was actually something like this in a Shakespeare play. The spoon bit, that is. 

That, and what if all evidence _did_ point to Cain or his household? He'd try to figure it out, right?

I tried my best to get both Cain and Riff IC. Landor is actually a character in the first story of "The Sound of a Boy Hatching", _The Hanged Man_. I highly dislike original characters. They're too hard to pull off.

There will most likely be future RiffxCain. Probably. Maybe. If I feel like it. And yes, I talk too much.


	2. Butter, Part One

**Butter, Part One**

Riff silently cursed round door handles as he tried to find a way to balance the heavy food tray, first on one hand, then on his hip. He cursed the heaviness of the tray. He _almost_ cursed having to bring breakfast up, but didn't. That would be indirectly cursing Cain.

"Mr. Riff? Do you need help?"

Riff looked around to see a young scullery maid had stopped on the way back below stairs. She also had her arms full, a firewood carrier taking up what seemed to be most of her strength. She placed this on the ground, and reached around him to turn the handle on the door. It swung open slightly.

"Thank you, Elsie," Riff said, nodding slightly.

Elsie smiled and picked the carrier back up. She turned, as if to leave, before swinging back around and saying, "Mr. Riff, you know I would do anything for you. All you need is to ask."

Riff paused, and there was a brief, awkward silence. "Thank you," he said, slowly.

A smile passed over the girl's face, before she hurried down the hall. Riff backed into the room, pushing the door with his shoulder, and pushed it shut again with his foot.

"You're quite popular with the ladies, aren't you?" Cain asked, from where he was sitting up in bed.

"Your breakfast, Sir," he said.

"Put it on the table."

Riff placed the tray on one of the chairs next to the table, and began unloading it. Cain rose from bed, and Riff noticed exactly how short his nightshirt was. Perhaps Cain should get actual pajamas—though Riff doubted Cain would bother, not when it was so much cooler without night clothes.

Riff stopped a mental image in it's tracks, listing off the foods as he put them on the table—eggs, toast, fried mushrooms and tomatoes, pudding, tea, juice, marmalade, sausages and bacon, potatoes—and carefully placing the napkins and silverware. Cain scooted in beside where Riff was placing the breakfast. It was only when Riff finally moved back that Cain made a move to eat.

"…Riff," Cain said, slowly. "I don't have a knife."

"Huh?" Riff looked over at the breakfast, and sure enough, there was no butter knife. "I could _swear_ I put one on the tray. I suppose I had better go get one. In the meantime, Sir, perhaps you should start with the pudding."

The thought of missing a piece of tableware worried Riff slightly. It wasn't like him to make such mistakes, and it wasn't like somebody would have stolen it. He never even let the tray out of his sight once he put the silverware on it. It was not something he would do, not after the spoon incident.

"…because kangaroos are beautiful animals! And they're _incredibly_ dangerous."

"Oh, an expert on kangaroos are we?"

"I'll have you know—"

"Excuse me," Riff said, nudging one of the footmen aside. "I seem to have forgotten to place a knife on Master Cain's tray."

"Forgotten?" One of the kitchen maids said, frowning slightly. "You don't forget much. Maybe it was that _thief_."

"Maybe it was Mr. Jennings," another said, snickering.

Jennings, who had been indignant enough about being interrupted during his kangaroo speech, huffed. "And just what are you implying?"

Riff didn't wait to hear the maid's response.

When he made it back up to the room, Cain had finished with about half of his breakfast, and was leaning back, in a would-be patient manner. However, when Riff held out the knife, it was snatched out of his hand, in Cain's hurry to finish before the rest got cold.

"You know what I was thinking?" Cain said between bites. "Maybe it was the cook that killed Freeman."

"Mrs. Nelson wouldn't do that," Riff said. "She won't stay in the kitchen until a chicken is killed and plucked. She can't stand the thought of death."

"But remember Devon and Julianne? Maybe there's a split personality."

"If she had a split personality, somebody would have noticed by now. She's been working for the Hargreaves longer than _I_ have," Riff said, then added, "And before you suggest it, it _wasn't_ the head maid, either."

"How many heads _are_ there?" Cain asked, with a covered tone of amazement.

"Three, Sir," Riff said, looking uncertain. "The cook, the head footman, and the head maid. The gardener and the chauffeur are on their own. And then there's me."

Cain glanced up at Riff. "Don't look at me like that," he said. "I've never understood the hierarchy below stairs. It's far more complicated than the one _I _live in."

Riff supposed that might go both ways, but didn't say so. Instead, he said, "Be glad you don't live in a great house, where the housekeeper and butler are different people—and your valet isn't on the top of the food chain."

"You'd _still_ be in the position you're in now," Cain said, turning back to his food."

"Sir, I'd probably die of exhaustion."

* * *

Notes: I'm trying to keep notes at a bare minimum, so I'm sorry it's not working. I know people don't necessarily want to hear my talk. I want to give as many people as possible the chance to be suspected, but this means splitting some of the parts in two, thus the "Butter, part one". And honestly, even _I_ don't know who did it—I can't think that far ahead, or else I forget what I wanted to write.

I also don't pretend to know _everything_ about the hierarchy in a house, but I think I've got the general picture. The term "below stairs" refers to the staff, and "great house" is a manor or castle, as opposed to a "small house" which is a town-house (which is where I assume Cain lives).

I downed the rating. I tried to take advice from a friend about a whole gore aspect, but I guess people from this fandom aren't fazed by it. Actually, I can't believe I was surprised.

A note about the title of the story: it has a _triple_ meaning: first, the obvious one with the first chapter; next, the saying about "being born with a silver spoon in one's mouth"; third…well, you'll have to wait on that one.

Thank you to Eternalsailorsolarwind for the review. It gives smiles and inspiration. Every time I get a review, my monitor gets a hug, so spread the hugs around and review (please..?)


	3. Butter, Part Two

A quick before-chap note: I guess I explained it poorly in the last chapter. There are three heads, with the head cook, head maid, and head footman. The cook and maid report to the housekeeper, and the footmen report to the butler. However, seeing how Riff is both the housekeeper and butler, he gets to pay attention to everybody.

* * *

**Butter, Part Two**

It was one of the busiest times of day below stairs, so what made Riff wasn't mad wasn't that he boy knocked him over. It was the fact that one of the kitchen maids was being rough enough that he _did_ fall over.

Riff never heard what she was yelling about. The door to the stillroom swing open, and Riff had just enough warning to dodge it. The girl was pulling a hall boy by his ear, and she pushed him.

It all seemed to happen so slowly. The boy tripped on a loose tile, and then fell on Riff. The tea tray that Riff was holding tipped toward the butler, and both he and the boy made futile moves to catch the contents. The boy managed to catch one cake, but not the plate, leaving his hands a sticky mess of frosting, and another cake landed on his lap. He was lucky though, for the tea pot smashed on the floor, splattering tea over Riff's front. Riff gave a yell of pain as he was scalded by the hot liquid, and a couple maids rushed to help.

"I-I'm sorry," the boy stuttering. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, it was an accident, I'm so sorry!"

"Just clean it up," Riff snapped, then winced. It had come out much harsher than he meant it to. "It's alright. I can just get changed. There's more than one teapot, and I'll just reset the tray."

It took a good fifteen minutes to get everything back together. When he finally made it to the sitting room, where Cain and Merry Weather were waiting, he was feeling more than a little harassed.

"You took longer than usual," Cain said, raising an eyebrow.

This made Riff fell even more annoyed, despite the fact that he knew Cain didn't intend it in a snobbish manner. It took more than a little effort to keep his demeanor as impassive as ever.

"There was an incident downstairs, involving a hall boy falling on me."

"Are you alright?" Cain asked.

"A little burned," Riff said. "And my pride is a little bruised. But nothing irreparable."

Cain still looked slightly worried, even as Riff gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

"Do you have any plans for this evening, Sir?" Riff asked, in a hope to change the subject.

"I'll be going out for a little while," Cain said, shrugging. "Probably not past midnight."

"What," Merry said. "I want to come!"

"No."

"I want to come!"

"No. Just Oscar and I, this time."

"Miss Merry," Riff butted in. "I don't think you want to go."

"Why not?"

"Just trust me," Riff said. He already felt quite a bit less ruffled.

* * *

Cain stood in the doorway on the way out of the doorway, blinking down the stairs. He shook his head.

"Y'need 'elp?" Oscar asked, from behind him.

"The street is kinda _way _down there," Cain said, shaking his head and blinking again.

"Dun worry!" Oscar nearly yelled. "When I fall, I will catch you!"

"I'll be fine," Cain said.

He grabbed onto the iron rail down, and walked carefully. It seemed to take ages, but he finally made it down. He stumbled right away, though, and grasped the wall to steady himself. Oscar could be heard behind him, and in front the street curved. Cain couldn't recall it doing that before.

"Woah."

Oscar was leaning on the corner of another building, an alley separating the two. Cain stumbled over the Oscar and leaned lightly on the taller man's shoulder as Oscar was sick just inside the alley.

"You a'ight?" Cain asked.

"Just a little," Oscar said.

"I wa'n talkin' to _you_," Cain said. "I was talkin' to 'at man o'er 'er."

A little farther into the alley, a man was slumped against the wall. Cain stumbled over to him, hanging the wall for support, and leaned down. It took a few moments to comprehend the fact that he had a knife in his throat, another to realize that it was actually _sawed_ halfway in, and one more to realize the fact that it was, in fact, a _butter knife_. Without thinking, Cain took a hold of the handle and tugged the knife. It only gave a little, but a few more tugs had the knife free. The man fell over, and his head swung dreadfully back, exposing the inside of his throat.

Oscar stumbled up behind Cain. A moment later, however, he was emptying what little was left in his stomach onto the pavement across the alleyway.

"Master Cain!"

Cain turned back to the main street. He just stood there dumbly, holding a bloody knife in front of a nearly headless corpse, trying to make out who was talking to him. He was eventually able to attach the tall figure with bluish-silver hair to a name.

"Riff?" he said, slowly.

"…Master Cain, I believe it is time for you to get home," Riff said. Cain didn't have to be sober to recognize the tone of Riff's voice to be one of displeasure.

* * *

Notes: Yeah. Cain got drunk. With Oscar. Apparently, they _do_ actually go places together (from what I gathered from the first volume of Godchild). I think Oscar would bring out a rather more adolescent side of Cain—the whole booze and girls side.

I honestly can't remember what else I wanted to say. So all I can ask now is for people to review! (btw, I think I might actually have an idea what direction this is going in o.O)


	4. A Quiet Moment with Oysters

**A Quiet Moment with Oysters**

Cain groaned against the bright sunlight as the curtains to his bedroom were thrown open, and he smashed his pillow over his face. He heard footsteps approach the bed, and the sound of a cup being put on his bedside table.

"Drink this, Sir." Riff's voice was muffled by the pillow against Cain's ears, but still floated through. "I am preparing a bath for you."

Cain sat up, squinting as much as he could against the sunlight. He reached somewhat blindly for the cup, and started to drink the contents. He spit the concoction out nearly immediately, though.

"What the hell _is_ this?" he asked. "It tastes like horse shit."

"It's an American remedy that was suggested, Sir," Riff said. "And I wasn't aware that you had the chance to discover what horse shit tastes like in the first place."

Cain plunked the cup back onto the table and flopped into bed. A moment later, Riff was shaking him back awake, and forcing the cup into his hands once more. As it seemed that his butler wouldn't yield any time soon, Cain took a deep breath and drank the 'remedy' down in as few gulps as possible. He then allowed himself to be ushered out of bed and into the bathroom. Cain gasped at the cold water in the tub.

"What did I do to deserve this?" he demanded. "First that shit you made me drink, and now a cold bath!"

"The cold bath was your own fault, Sir," Riff said, in a frustratingly patient voice. "You fell back asleep. And that 'shit I made you drink' actually _was_ supposed to help a hangover. If you insist on getting drunk, you must face the consequences."

Cain glared at Riff, shivering from the thighs down at the bath.

"One," he snapped. "It is not unusual for a man to get drunk once in a while. I will be _shocked_ if I find out you have never been drunk. Two: I get drunk maybe once or twice a _year_, unlike most other men of the upper class. Three: I wasn't _that_ drunk. And four: It was Oscar's fault—he kept ordering the drinks."

Riff's face remained as impassive as ever. It was not often that he got in a fight with Riff—in fact, Cain could count the number of times on one hand—but when they _did_ fight, Riff always won.

"One," Riff said, in his frustrating way. "The bath _was_ hot, and I _did_ intend for you to get in it while it was. Two: I have _never_ punished you. I just let you suffer the consequences, which in this case happen to include a hangover, a cold bath, and a remedy that is disgusting but supposedly still works. Three: 'not that drunk' isn't the point—you were drunk enough to not think twice about handling a bloody knife, which just happens to be one of your own—which reminds me, you should look at it later, since it seems to be poisoned, and you recognize them better than myself. And four: I fully intend to treat you just as I do every other day, which includes getting you up, bathed, and dressed in time to have breakfast with your sister. And don't complain, it is your own fault you were out so late."

Cain ground his teeth for a moment, and then plopped into the cold water. He wasn't about to admit that he was wrong, and Riff probably knew it. Cain avoided looking Riff in the eye for a good portion of the morning afterward.

* * *

"We aren't dealing with murder," Cain groaned. "_This_ is _not_ murder. This is _overkill._" 

"Sir?"

"Just a small amount of this poison would suffice to kill someone," he said, turning in his chair to look at Riff. "The blade was completely soaked in it. And not only that, but they felt the need to slice his head off—they didn't succeed, which is not surprising if you consider their choice of weapons, but the point is they felt the need to. Who would feel the need to poison a knife used to cut off somebody's head?"

Riff remained silent.

"How many people have the chance to steal a butter knife?" Cain asked.

Riff sighed. "Well, there's the head footmen, he's generally in charge of the silver," he said. "I supposed we could count Elsie, if we assumed she's a good thief—she leaned around me to open the door. There's the hall boy who fell on me, and the maids that helped clean up. And then there's the kitchen maid who pushed him, as there's the chance she did it on purpose. Come to think of it, we may as well count all the other footmen, too, because they clean up after dinner."

Cain felt like banging his head on the desk. "So, five footmen, plus three maids, the kitchen maid, a hall boy narrows it down to ten people," he said. "That makes everything _much_ easier."

"We've cut the number of people in half, Sir," Riff said. "More than half."

"Yeah, right," Cain snapped. "I'm out of ideas."

"I'm sure you'll come up with _something_, Sir," Riff said. _Cause you're a genius_ was what Riff left unsaid. Showing too much admiration could be a bad thing.

Cain sighed and thought. "Let's see…where was I when I found the guy?"

"Just outside the cabaret."

"Was everybody in?"

"They were when I left," Riff said. "However, they had all the time it took for me to find you. That would be a good three hours."

"Three hours?" Cain asked. "How late was I _out_?"

"Until two o'clock."

Cain stared for a moment, then sighing, "Now I know why you were so annoyed."

"I figured you'd be late, actually," Riff said. "You were with Mr. Oscar."

"So," Cain said. "I've got a dead body with my cutlery in an alleyway near a cabaret, in the middle of the night. Do you think it was a coincidence that it was there, or is there a connection?"

"Between the murder and you, or the cabaret?"

Cain sighed again. It seemed that he was doing that a lot that day.

"We need somebody else to die," he muttered. "I need to see one when I can think straight."

Riff wasn't sure whether he wanted to laugh or not.

* * *

Notes: I'm getting these out of the way before I go and forget what I wanted to say again…I noticed how many people think Riff's hair is blonde. I actually did, too. But I got a _huge_ surprise when looking at pictures—his hair is, actually, very light blue. Also, the remedy that was used in this chapter is called a "Prairie Oyster"—an egg and Worcestershire sauce. Pretty gross sounding huh? (btw, does anybody know if it really does work?) 

I'm trying to get as much written at one time as possible so that I finish. So this is gonna get updated rather quickly (if you couldn't tell by the fact that chapters are coming up every day or two). I don't have a beta, however, so if you see something seriously wrong, please tell me, so I can fix it as soon as possible.

_Eternalsailorsolarwind – yeah, I figure Cain gets drunk once and a while—he is a man, after all. Even if he is a controlled, sensible young count who is in denial about his gayness. And really, Riff remember Elsie in the real manga. But really, if he did, it would make this fanfiction quite a bit shorter._

_Namariegreenleaf – There will be Cain/Riff ness, I promise. Probably won't "just happen", though, unfortunately. Somehow I get the feeling both would be scared of taking advantage of one another (ironic, neh?)_

Damn. I wrote a lot of notes again. Please review, anyway!


	5. Cake, Part One

**Cake, Part One**

_Five, six, seven…_crash.

Riff paused. _Crash?_

He moved across the kitchen and peered down the hallway. He saw a light on down the hallway, in the ironing room. He closed the door to the kitchen, and moved toward the other room. Elsie was standing stock-still, a closet open in front of her, and all the contents on the floor.

"Elsie?" he said. "What are you doing so late?"

She spun around, with a surprised and rather nervous look on her face.

"Um…well…you see," she said. "I was finishing scrubbing a floor, but the rag I was using was dirty, so I came in here to see if there was any others…"

"Rags aren't kept in the ironing room," Riff said.

"…they aren't?" she asked. "Um…well…"

Riff looked at her suspiciously. _Any_ servant should have known that.

"I'm done, anyway," she muttered.

"Then you should go to bed," Riff said.

"Is it true that the knife was poisoned?" she asked. "The one in the corpse, that is."

"Where did you hear that?" Riff asked, sharply.

"One of the hall boys said he heard that it was. While he was emptying Lord Cain's chamber pot, that is…" she paused. "If you found out who did it, would you turn them in?"

"I most certainly would."

"What do you think will happen to them?"

"They'll be sent to Australia, I suppose," he said. "At worst, they'll be hanged."

"Oh," she said. She moved closer to him, fidgeting with her skirt. "Um…Mr. Riff?"

"Yes, Elsie?"

With very little warning, she propelled herself up onto her toes. Riff took a step back, and turned his head. She missed. There was silence, and Riff didn't turn back to look at her. He was staring determinedly down the hall. Finally, he turned back to her. She was staring at the floor with as much concentration that he had been looking at the wall just previously.

"Goodnight, Elsie," he said.

The girl dashed past him out the door. He could hear her footsteps moving down the corridor, but didn't move. He closed his eyes and heaved a sigh. He wouldn't deny that he didn't know it would happen. But he still wasn't ready for it. And he was wishing that it _wouldn't_. He hated to crush a girl's dreams. But that was just the thing—she was a _girl_, hardly older than fifteen. But it was not just her age. He squashed the last half of his reasoning.

He returned to the kitchen. He had not only lost count of the knives, but left them unattended. He began snatching them off the counter. _One, two, three…_

696969696

Cain wished it didn't bother him so much when he saw things like that. It was not so much the thought that Riff could very well fall in love with a girl without telling him. It was the thought that he could fall in love at _all_. He cursed himself as being stupid. The girl was too young for _him_, let alone his twenty-seven year old butler. And even if she _was_ old enough, she wasn't Riff's taste—that was, what Cain could only guess was Riff's taste. Of all the things that the two knew about each other, it was the subject of girls that they hardly ever broached upon. He vaguely remembered something about Riff being engaged once, but all that was _really_ ever said about it was that it was over before Cain and Riff had met.

"Lord Cain?" Damn, it was that _girl_. "Mr. Riff's in the kitchen, if you want him."

Cain walked past her without a word. He opened the door. Riff slammed his hand, which was full of cooking knives, onto the counter.

"_What_?" the older man snapped, looking up. "Oh. Master Cain. I'm sorry."

"Is something wrong?" Cain asked.

"I've been interrupted twice already," Riff said, laying the knives back out.

"Well then, don't let _me_ disturb you," Cain said.

He sat at a stool, and watched as Riff started picking up the knives. There was no talking for a few moments as Riff started counting, Cain following along unconsciously.

"Twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven," Riff finished. "Alright, _now_ I can offer undivided attention."

Cain smirked. "I thought you were supposed to provide undivided attention to me, anyway. Really, are knives that precious?"

"Right now, they are," Riff said, putting the knives in the block. "Don't worry, we have all of them. And don't give me the chance to pull out your obsession with poison."

"I love my children," Cain said, leaning on a hand. "And don't worry, they're all there. All _mine_ that is."

"It's not yours that we have to worry about," Riff said. "It's the household poisons used for cleaning."

"Indeed," Cain said. "But you collected those. Are we missing anything else from kitchen?"

"The cook didn't notice anything. But she doesn't use everything every day."

"Ah."

"Do you need help with anything, Sir?" Riff asked.

Cain paused, wondering if he should mention seeing That Girl hitting on Riff. He then decided against it. He shouldn't be worried. He shouldn't _show_ the worry.

"No," he said. "I'm fine."

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**Notes**: Cake might have _three_ parts, if I don't get everything I want in it. I actually feel a little bad using this title, as it will have a double meaning. It's the beginning of the hints of CainxRiff. Hence the idea of "fruitcakes"—and really, they are _not_ fruitcakes. However Orlando Bloom…now _that's_ a fruitcake (or rather, he _acts_ like the definition I usually use, but I use it in terms of "goofball"). But I'm trying to stick with the theme of food titles.

Btw, I'm sorry about the problem with the breaks. As soon as it get fixed, I'll change this.

_Child-of-the-Waves: Wow. I'm glad I inspired such a change. I actually find Riff taking on some characteristics of a different character—who just happens to be the favorite pov I like to write in. I think it stems from the fact that they both have to occasionally play "daddy" to their less mature friends…lovers…. I've got a friend who comes up with other bizarre deaths, actually, but I won't get into them._

_EternalSailorSolarWind: Ah, well…Cain will get over it. Or rather, he has already. I love the two of them._


	6. Cake, Part Two

**Cake, Part Two**

Riff watched the new footman—previously a hall boy, and still at the young age of sixteen—frown down at the set table. Riff was showing him about waiting at the table, and tonight would be the young man's first time having real footman duties.

"So," he asked, picking up a fork. "Why does this fork go on the right?"

However, instead of Riff answering, a voice behind them answered, "Because we eat fish with two of them—one in each hand."

The two servants looked around to see Cain leaning against the doorframe to the sitting room. The footman took a startled step back. Riff brightened almost imperceptibly.

"May I help you, Master Cain?" Riff asked.

Cain shrugged, and slid into the chair in front of the dishes. "You've just been so busy lately, I was starting to miss you," Cain said, looking up. "So I thought I'd come visit you myself."

"I'm afraid I won't be very good company, Sir," Riff said.

There was a knock on the door, and it opened. Elsie poked her head in.

"Mr. Riff—" she stopped as she saw Cain, whose face had darkened. "Well…actually…I think Frankie can help me with this…"

Riff nodded, and the footman followed her through the door. There was a clank as Cain threw down a fork he had been examining. Riff returned his attention to his young master, who smiled up at him in what seemed an almost mischievous manner. Riff avoided looking at Cain by gathering the tableware onto a nearby tray.

"How old was I the last time a girl fell in love with you?" Cain asked.

"Fifteen, Sir," Riff said.

"Was I really…" Cain said. "I didn't realize how frequently it happens."

"A lot less often than a girl falling in love with you, Sir," Riff answered. "And I don't lead them on."

"Oh, Riff," Cain said. "I'm insulted. You remember how I learned the Georgie Porgie rhyme."

"Master Cain, I didn't mean—" Riff paused at Cain's almost playful look.

"It's funny," Cain said. "I remember when I was thirteen, the age gap didn't seem so big. Well, it's not _nearly_ so big now, but…"

"But?"

"…but I didn't really realize exactly how young I was then. Back when that woman decided she wanted you."

Riff always found it a little cute how Cain showed his dislike. Every few years, a maid might come in and decide that she loved Riff, and every time, Cain called her "That Woman". And every time Cain showed his possessiveness in small ways like this, Riff felt that small amount of fluttering that he always tried to squash. It was incredibly unfair to Cain that he might think anything unchaste about him—Riff was always the one allowed to see Cain vulnerable, something that could stretch from as small as seeing him unclothed, to having the young earl cry on his shoulder. No matter how Riff looked at it, it felt like he would be taking advantage of Cain.

"Mr. Riff?" The two looked around to see that Frankie the ex-hall boy had returned. "Um…y'know how you wanted to be told when something went missing? Well…it's nothing big, really…but Mrs. Nelson can't seem to find her bench scraper."

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Cain stretched and heard his back crack slightly. He and Riff had gathered everybody to stay within the hallway below stairs. He felt a little useless as he followed Riff through the below stairs, as he had no idea where things were. However, he had been adequate at tearing apart the bedrooms. But no matter how they looked, they seemed unable to find the bench scraper. He may not have been exactly clear on what a bench scraper was—Riff had described it as a large, flat, and very blunt blade with a wooden handle—he knew that he would recognize it as completely out of place in a bedroom.

They finally gave up for the night, and grounded everyone to their rooms. Riff prepared meals for Cain and Mary Weather as best as he was able, and now all Cain wanted was to go to bed. He knew he was going to be lying awake wondering anyway, but there was no harm in trying. It had been what seemed like ages since he had been completely exhausted, but have his tired brain still trudging along against his will.

A thought came to him that maybe the person had hidden it in Cain's room, knowing that it was the last place he would look. Cain reached around under his mattress and wardrobe, and was just digging through said wardrobe when Riff returned with clean nightclothes.

"Master Cain?" Riff asked uncertainly.

"I was thinking that maybe that thing was hidden in my stuff, seeing as how we wouldn't look there," Cain said. "Or maybe yours or Mary's."

Riff paused, looking thoughtful. "I think you should get some rest, Master Cain. I promise, I will make a point to look through our own stuff."

Cain allowed himself to be dressed and even allowed Riff to tuck him in, as if he were a small child. It was something that never happened before Riff, and so somehow it felt almost as if he was making up for lost time when it came to small things like that. Even if he was starting to admit his attraction to the person doing so.

It still took a while for his mind to give in.

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Notes: Okay, it's official that Cake is going to have three parts, with all the time I spent having Cain flirt with Riff. I finally got the official translation of the first two Godchild books. So, first of all, I don't know what kind of name "Siobhan" is, so if I ever mention her, it's gonna be the version I originally had, which is "Shavonne". Also, I like Cain's utterly originally indirect way of saying I only love you: "…the only hand that's allowed to tie my shoelaces." Cause he's just that cool. Second, what exactly is a bench scraper used for? It's used by bakers to work dough or clean off the surfaces that they were working on. I'm cheating on the title.

_EternalSailorSolarWind: Aww…everybody lurves Cain/Riff. Y'know they're meant for each other ._

_YukiHotaru: I don't think Cain would get as huffy as with Shavonne/Yvonne/Siobhan, cause she was closer to Riff's age than this new girl. Sure, Cain's possessive, but I think he's smart enough to realize that Riff wouldn't go for a 15 year old—Riff's only a pedophile for Cain_

Oh yes, and there is no innuendo intended by the dividers I'm using.


	7. Cake, Part Three

**Cake, Part Three**

Riff stood at the head of the table in the servants' dining hall, waiting for everybody to get situated. There were a few visiting valets and maids, who accompanied Cain's dinner guests, and it added a little to the confusion as everybody moved to take precedence in consideration. Finally, everybody stood still by their seats, and he looked around for a minute, before bowing his head for grace.

"Dear Lord," they chorused. "We thank thee for what we are about to receive."

"Right," he said, looking up. "Tuck in, we haven't got long." There was a flurry as everybody sat and began passing the food around. Over the bustle, he said, "The serving schedule has been moved up a day, to make up for last night's trouble."

"Did you ever find my bench scraper?" Mrs. Nelson asked, from the other end of the table.

"Unfortunately not, but we can't bring the entire world to a halt over missing possessions," Riff said. "It'll just have to replaced, and if anybody finds the old one, we'll take note of it."

"Do you think it'll be used…like the other missing things were?" a maid asked from down the table.

"I don't know, and I don't believe that this is an entirely appropriate subject for the dinner table," Riff said.

There was a silence for a few moments. The visiting servants looked around, slightly confused, but a couple of the others gave looks saying that they would fill them in later.

"Um…" Frank said in a small voice. "You said that the schedule had been moved up? You won't actually make me serve for the first time with guests in the house, will you?"

"Don't worry," Riff said. "It'll be fine. And if you drop a dish on one of the guests, Lord Cain will probably be too busy trying not laugh to fire you."

There was a general snicker around the table, and Frank gave a weak smile.

"Well, here's praying that Lady Anette gets red wine on her dress!" the maid on Riff's right said, lifting her glass.

"Miss Reed!"

"The count is stuck between her and Lord George, isn't he?" another asked, down the table. "Wasn't Lord Cain engaged to Lord George's cousin for a while?"

"He'll survive Lord George. But I'm sure Lady Anette will like him very much, if you know what I mean," the maid said, smirking.

"What?" Riff berated himself instantly for asking. He was supposed to discourage gossip, not provide more initiative.

"Well, I don't know much—"

"I'm not interested in gossip," Riff said, instantly. "It's usually wrong."

"She was a friend of Lord Alexis, before he died," she said. "But don't you know her already? I mean, if she is a dinner guest…"

"From what I can tell," Mrs. Nelson said. "If Lord Cain's relatives bug him enough, he'll have them and a few people from their 'recommended guests' list for dinner. Apparently she was on it."

"But anyway," the maid continued. "It's hardly any secret what type of men she likes. I wouldn't call it chasing the younger men, as they usually play into her hands. It's probably because her husband was a Marquis, right? They say she killed him and—"

"I told you, I don't like gossip," Riff snapped, stabbing the food on his plate a little harder than he meant to. He was angry with himself enough, having had listened to them for so long. He wondered, though, whether he was really mad about it because of the gossip itself, or the subject.

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Cain was barely poking at his food. He thanked God several times over that the food was served to each person separately—he knew all the tricks of flirting, with 'innocent' touches passing salt and pepper, as he was guilty of it himself. But he hated when it was done to him, especially when the woman was quite a bit older than him. It didn't matter how beautiful she still was, it still made him feel fake.

He was hardly joining in on the conversation either, just enough to seem polite. At least this dinner would shut his family up for a while. And somehow, his Uncle Neil seemed very tense. Cain caught him glaring at Lady Anette more than once. At least Cain could vow never to let her past his door again. If he had known of her connection beforehand, he wouldn't have invited her in the first place.

"Hey, did you hear about that duke?" Merry Weather asked from the other end of the table. "Supposedly his best friend just got sentenced to four years of hard labor for indecency…although, I wasn't quite sure what they meant…"

Lady Anette glanced at Cain somewhat with a small smirk—Cain had to resist gagging—and said, "He was a sodomite."

"What's—"

"This not exactly appropriate for the occasion, nor the company," Neil interjected.

One of the other ladies excused herself, and whispered to Riff about the lavatory. This came out loud and clear, though, in the heavy silence. Cain stabbed his fish with one of his forks again.

A scream resounded down the hallway a moment later. Everybody was out of their seats in a rush, running toward the screams. Sitting in front of the door to the lavatory, from which a body had fallen. And, embedded in the stomach of the body was a bench scraper.

At some point, somebody contacted the police. When Landor finally arrived, he got the largest disgruntlement of the night. Every one of the guests made a point to leave as quickly as possible—not one wanted to be associated with any type of murder. This left Cain and Riff to attempt to answer all the questions as best as they could on their own.

The murdered was a lady's maid to one of the guests.

The weapon had been missing for at least a day.

The corpse had been shoved in postmortem, as servants were not allowed to use the water closet, and especially not one above stairs.

This left all everyone—Hargreaves, servants and police alike—exhausted, exasperated, and edgy. It wasn't until the next morning that Cain was able to mentally relax, and mull over all that might have and did happen.

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Notes: Whew. Cake ended up being very long. It actually has a lot to digest, so you get to mull over it a while. You won't get any more until next Sunday (probably), cause I get to spend a week in band camp. Yay! (okay, not really…) But I'll keep writing while there, so you most definitely will get updates.

Really, I somehow ended up liking Neil. I'm not sure why. Maybe it's cause he makes me think of some of my own relatives.

I actually took the time to look up the history of the toilet. Yes, the rich had "water closets".

_NamarieGreenleaf – Seven more o.O…well, I guess it kind of depends on how many it takes for me set it all out_

_EternalSailorSolarWind – Gaelic? I'll decide when (or rather if I mention her)._

_Polynesia – Oh good…I was worried that maybe they would get out of character. I write two other fandoms using characters with similar characteristics, and they end up intermingling to some extent. Your welcome about the dividers._

_ Hatori Soma - My life is being threatened by my readers...ironically, I see this as a good sign...  
_


	8. Wine, Part One

**Wine, Part One**

Cain groaned and covered his eyes with an arm. This time, though, it wasn't so much that he felt sick as much as he simply didn't want to get up. He didn't want to face the day.

"Master Cain."

Cain moved his arm to see Riff standing beside the bed, towels over his arm.

"I'm up," he mumbled. However, it took another five minutes to convince himself to get up.

He was glad he did. The warmth of the bath relaxed his muscles, which surprised him—he hadn't realized he was so tense. Likewise, Riff's movements as he washed him soothed his nerves to an extent. Everything felt so familiar. Cain thought how amazing it was how reassuring this routine could be.

"Well," Cain said, finally. "We have a few problems to take care of. Lady Anette has to be crossed of the list of people I was to ever see again."

"I was told she was a friend of Lord Alexis," Riff said.

Cain tensed a little, then relaxed again. "I wouldn't be surprised if she was the best friend of the Marquis de Sade," he said. "She's certainly old enough. We also need to find a good way to avoid explaining the concept of sodomy to Merry. I can't believe that vile woman was talking about that around her. We can't just tell her not to worry about it, damn her persistence."

"She's rather like you in that way…" Riff said, smiling slightly. "Meanwhile, the staff is rather upset with both of us. Nobody is allowed in the kitchen or the safe without my supervision, and nobody is allowed to quit. I don't want anyone making a dash for it."

Cain smiled and leaned back in the hot water.

"Nobody wants to stay in a murder house," he said.

"Nobody wants to stay in a house with a murderer."

Cain actually laughed at this point. The smell of bath soaps wafted up with the steam, and sunlight drifted in the window. This, combined with Riff's calming presence, made him feel almost as if the previous night's events hadn't been in his own house. He felt like he had been watching from the sidelines, and this detachment cleared his head so he could think.

"It's a shame about that duke," he said at length. "From what I remember about him, he was pretty young. Around my age, actually, right?"

"Sixteen, Sir."

"Hm…young love, maybe? It's pretty hard to lock up a duke, but not hard to accuse somebody of molesting one."

Riff remained silent.

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Cain stared down at the note. It had just been delivered, written on crumbling yellow paper, with no return address.

_youre luckee numers er tree und sephen. done let sephen beecome tarteen. won say no moor hear._

Wilson Throckmorton 

Both Riff and Merry Weather had dismissed it as a hoax, and even Landon had told him earlier that they already had thirty-seven confessions, all of which ended up being. The handwriting was too nice for the spelling, as it was highly unlikely for someone to have a low education and still have such beautiful calligraphy. Still, Cain didn't want to put it aside. There was something itching at the back of his brain, and he was trying desperately to grasp at it. He knew the name, but he didn't know whose it was.

He still asked Riff to find out about the name. After dinner, Riff told him that there was a Sir _William_ Throckmorton once, but he died a two years earlier. He had been newly rich, and had left behind the knightship to one of his sons, of which there were three: Robert, Nathan, and Bartholomew. But there was no Wilson.

Cain leaned his head on his palm, and looked out the window. The beautiful sunny day had become cloudy, and now rain was coming down in torrents, and Cain could barely see outside.

It was then that a thought came to him.

Cain looked around as Riff came into the room, carrying a tea tray. He shot up, and Riff almost dropped the tray when Cain grabbed him.

"I think I have it!" he said. Without waiting for the 'really?', he said, "The name 'Wilson' is made up—like a sort of acronym! The surname Wilson was originally derived when people went around introducing themselves, like 'Robert son of Will', which became 'Will's son', then just 'Wilson'. This was written by one of Sir William's sons!"

Riff frowned slightly, but Cain could also see that little bit of surprise and admiration. It always pleased him to see expressions like that.

"It's a long shot, Sir," Riff said. "But I suppose it's one we should take, isn't it? Shall I begin looking for their whereabouts?"

Cain smirked. "Most definitely."

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Notes: Okay, so it's a little later than I promised. The first part was the one written at camp, when all I could _think_ about was getting a bath. And then when I got home I watched Princess Tutu…which really didn't help with inspiration eheheh... I think it's time for me to start taking walks again so I can work off blocks. I'm a little worried about this new original character; I have a hard time pulling them off. I'll try my best to keep him from becoming a Marty-Stu. And believe it or not, that note took a lot of work on my part—there's stuff all through it o.O.

For those who don't know, the Marquis de Sade was the guy who had "sadism" named after him, and died in the very early 1800s. Let's just say he was a really gross sexual predator guy. I forgot to mention that I made a reference to "Seal of the Red Ram" in the last chapter—George was seen in one page, as the next in line for the Rotterdale Marquis-ship. He didn't even so much as get a line in the comic.

_EternalSailorSolarWind – I figure there's a delicate balance between gossip and finding things out. I've only just figured out a connection__. And thank you, I _did_ enjoy band camp…sort of…it's really more a matter of liking it _after_ you get back ._

_Hatori Soma – don't worry, I'm doing my best to keep going. Especially since CainxRiff is such a difficult pairing to get together._


	9. Wine, Part Two

**Wine, Part Two**

Sir Robert Throckmorton was tall, sleek, and blonde. He was just about Riff's age, and Riff didn't like him from the moment he laid eyes on him. It was while he was unpacking Cain's things, and making sure his master's clothes were ironed that other servants began saying that he was exactly the way he looked—one nasty piece of work.

It was during this time that they also started talking about the other brothers.

"None of them have ever been very close," one maid had said. "Robert's the one with all the inheritance, and he's handing out allowances. Nathan hasn't got the brains to make the price of a packet of tea. So, of course, the moment he needs money, guess who he goes crying to?"

"It's a bit sad, really," another said.

"_I'd _say," another valet added in. "_I_ think he's _pathetic_. It's all because of the lack of fatherly love those three have had. Look what happened to Barty."

"That wasn't the lack of fatherly love, that was the lack of masculine influence at _all_. If Lady Silvia hadn't spoiled him so much—"

"Who's Lady Silvia?" Riff asked.

"The late Sir William's sister. Old Willy was always complaining about never having any daughters, and didn't want anything to do with his sons. So Roberts gets raised by a governess, Nathan was sent off to his grandmother," the first maid said. "Well, Granny don't want another boy, so Barty got sent to live with his Aunt Silvia. She spoiled the death out of him, too."

"Barty's the only one with any smarts. Give him ten years, tops, and it's Robert that'll be begging money off of Barty—Robert doesn't know how to make money, just spend it. 'Course, it helps that Barty's the one with all Silvia's good graces."

Now he was relaying the conversation to Cain, while helping him dress for bed.

"Although, we should keep in mind that this is gossip," he said. "Also, I was looking at that note again."

"Yes?"

"Well, I figured parts of it out, except I still don't know what the whole thing is. First, we should take the words for what they are. The 'lucky numbers' being three and seven, and be careful to avoid thirteen. Seven is the 'holy' number—the one used in the bible: Seven days, seven archangels, seven heavenly virtues—"

"And seven deadly sins."

Riff gave a small smile. "And thirteen is an unlucky number. I also thought it a good idea not to exclude Delilah, and since they use 'cards', I asked about the numbers. Three is the Empress, Seven is the Chariot, and Thirteen is Death—and we already know that Dr. Jezebel Disraeli is 'Death'." There was a brief pause in which time Cain and Riff just looked at each other, before Riff continued. "Now, a 'sephen' is a large sting-ray, that's found in the Indian Ocean and the Red Sea. 'Und' is the German word for 'and', and 'er' is a noise made when one is not sure what to say, which may mean you don't need to pay attention to it. 'Tarteen' could be sounded out to say 'tartine'—one of those French sandwiches. And 'moor' could be used to mean a fenced in area for hunting game. And if you separate some words from the rest, you'd get things like 'you are lucky' and 'no moor'."

Cain took a few minutes to digest all this information. He then developed a thoughtful look on his face, and sat slowly on the bed.

"Did Shakespeare use a 'moor' in one of his plays?" he asked. "He was the servant and lover of the 'barbarous Tamara'. They kept calling him 'the empress's moor'. Wasn't he a Negro? It seems to me that we're getting a couple of countries: We have Egypt, India, France, and Germany. If we were going along _those_ lines, where could one place the numbers?"

After a moment of thought, Riff said, "I think the Empire has thirteen territories…at least, major ones. Let's see, there's…Ireland, Scotland, and Wales…"

"Canada and Australia…"

"India…Argentina is still occupied, right?"

"Hm…some part of South America is. But you have Egypt and India in there, along with some other African Countries…do we still have those islands in the Caribbean?"

Riff laughed. "I think we should be ashamed of ourselves! We don't even know all the parts of the Empire!"

Flopped back onto the bed. "I've never _really_ had to think about it before. I mean…I don't plan on leaving England any time soon…"

"That's really no excuse, Master Cain."

"Speaking of excuses, can we come up with an excuse for me to _leave_? I hate this place, and Sir Robert can't possibly the person we're looking for anyway. He's an asshole, and an idiot at that. I'm thinking maybe we should skip Nathan and go straight to Bartholomew. The servants kept calling him 'Barty', didn't they? Wouldn't that show _some_ fondness?"

"Indeed it would, Sir," Riff said. "We'll find out what's so wrong with him when we _do_ see him. Although…there is one slight catch."

"What?"

"He's in prison."

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Notes: Okay, I'll try to wrap Wine up in the next chapter. I don't like making chapters too long…just cause I can't concentrate on one file for that long . Barty is the one I'm scared of writing (and really, I keep writing his name so short cause I don't want to write Bartholomew out every time…hehe). Hopefully I can keep him to a one-chapter character…but when I need a leg-up with keeping things moving, I turn to new characters.

I'm still not sure of all the parts of the British Empire back then—I'm not sure _when_ the British occupied Egypt and Argentina, for example, I just know that they _did_. And keep in mind, back then Australia was still made up almost entirely of criminals—the one stereotype that was true at some point in history.

_EternalSailorSolarWind – I wasn't gone _that_ long…but I'm glad to know I was missed. Really, the note was a little hard to figure out. And now I just threw a butt load of info about the note at you guys o.O._


	10. Wine, Part Three

**Wine, Part Three**

It was surprisingly hard to visit Bartholomew Throckmorton in prison. The warden had been ordered not to let anyone visit without family's permission. However, finally phone calls were made—more than one, for reasons Cain couldn't comprehend, and finally he was allowed to see Bartholomew.

He was younger than Cain expected—only a year or two older—and as dark as Sir Robert was fair. In fact, just from the way he carried himself, Cain could tell they were as different as day and night. Bartholomew sat across a wooden table, looking as though he felt he owned the place, but Cain could see a small excitement in the other's eyes, and a tenseness at the guards' presence.

Cain pulled the note out of his pocket and pushed it across the table.

"Did you send this?" he asked.

A look of surprise crossed Bartholomew's face.

"You got it?" Bartholomew asked. "Did you figure it out?"

"…no," Cain said, glancing over his shoulder at Riff. "We figured some of the parts, but not the message as a whole."

"Do you have a pen?"

Riff put a hand the breast-pocket of his jacket and handed it across the to Bartholomew. There was a pause between them as the transaction was made, and Bartholomew looked at Riff with an unreadable expression. He then turned to the paper and started writing. After a few moments, he pushed the paper back, with a list underneath the original note.

_Three is Empress_

_ Und is German, goth_

_Tarteen tartine, French_

_French "Goth" empress, Tamara_

"_won't say no moor"_

_Seven nationalities out of thirteen_

"Tamara?" Cain asked. "So the German was only helping to allude to Tamara, but the person we're looking for is French?"

"That's right," Bartholomew answered. "From what I've heard—which isn't much—she's been collecting people from each of the thirteen colonies and installing them in the households of nobles, sort of like a spy system. They're all criminals. Rumor has it she's bought a few people out of the gallows, and even brought somebody back from Australia."

"But she only has seven so far?"

"Do you know who she is?" Riff asked.

"No," Bartholomew answered. "I haven't heard a name. But they talk about her around here. For a few men, she's their only hope."

"And you haven't heard about an 'Aaron'." It was more of a statement on Riff's part than a question.

"Again, no. But I have no doubt there will be one eventually, if there isn't already."

Cain rose from his seat, and turned toward the door. "Thank you." Then, as an after-thought, he turned back. "And the 'sephen'? Is that just Egypt or India, or is it both?"

"Both."

Riff and Cain nearly made it out the door, before Bartholomew said, "Count, may I talk to you in private for a moment?"

Cain glanced at Riff, and Riff shrugged, answering that it didn't matter either way to him. Cain nodded and returned to his seat. Bartholomew waited until the door was closed before speaking.

"Who was that man?" he asked.

"Who, Riff?" Cain said. "He's my valet."

"Have you told him yet?"

Cain paused a moment, not quite sure what he heard. "Huh?" Realizing how stupid it sounded, said, "I don't understand…"

"What you think of him."

"What do you mean?"

Bartholomew smiled. "You're in love with him." Cain stiffened, and making Bartholomew smile even wider. "I was right, wasn't I?"

"How…?"

"I've got a sharp eye," Bartholomew asked. "And I can tell how you think. Cause we're not so different, are we?"

It was not often that Cain felt truly uncomfortable, and right now, he felt _very_ uncomfortable.

"Why did you send me that letter?" Cain asked, sharply. "Why are you telling me to say something to Riff? Why the _hell_ do you care so much?"

"Do you know why I'm here?" Without waiting for an answer, Bartholomew answered, "It's because I fell in love with another man. Tamara found out and his family, and I got sued."

"So you're just out for revenge?" Cain rose from his seat once again, and turned toward the door. "I'm sorry, I avenge people I've never met. All I see _here_ is self-pity, because Prince Charming doesn't give a damn."

"I can't see him, his family won't let me," Bartholomew said. When Cain didn't look back he said, "You'd get revenge for yourself, wouldn't you? Mr. Australia's in _your_ _house_."

That got Cain's attention. He turned back around and looked intently at the youngest Throckmorton brother. His pride wouldn't allow him to inquire any further, though. He walked out the door without another word.

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"Master Cain?"

Cain turned in his chair to look at his butler, before returning his attention back out the window of his study. He felt bad for having ignored Riff for the most part after they left the prison, and it made him feel even worse when he heard the slight hurt in the other man's voice. Bartholomew's comment about Cain confessing had struck a little too close to home, and forced him to really think about what he felt. It was hard to even look at Riff now.

"We can't just get someone to tell us that they're from Australia," Cain said, finally.

"No, Sir." Riff sounded a little disappointed to that this was what came up when his master finally decided to talk to him.

"Come here," Cain said.

Soft footsteps on carpet, and Riff stood next to him. Cain looked up, finally paying full attention to Riff. And what he saw in his face was worry.

"Are you alright, Sir?" Riff asked. "Do you want to talk about what Mr. Throckmorton said to you?"

Cain _didn't_ want to, and did all at the same time. He wanted to, but he didn't want Riff to know that the reason he was talking about it was because he was told to by Bartholomew. Instead he took one of Riff's hands and studied it.

"…not really," he said, finally. But then, he asked, "Riff, what do you think of me?"

The was a stunned paused. "…I'm not entirely sure what you mean, Sir."

"Don't call me that," Cain said. "Not right now."

He looked back up to see confusion written all over Riff's face. After a minute, Cain couldn't take it anymore and looked across the room.

"…nevermind."

Riff knelt down to look Cain in the eyes, and turned his master's face to look at him.

"You know that if you ever need me, I'm here," he said.

Cain smiled slightly. "I know, Riff."

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Notes: Yeah. I know. I'm feeling slightly evil…it'll probably happen next chapter. But this part Wine is so long already, I couldn't add in a huge love scene. I've gone and loaded people down with even _more_ information, and started the beginning of the end, and even started the beginning of Cain getting up the courage to confess to Riff! That's a lot to do in one chapter! There's actually gonna be a "Wine, Part Four"!

I'm pretty proud of myself for accidentally following the Count Cain tradition and incorporating another story (even though, technically, a Shakespeare play isn't a 'story'). Titus Andronicus is my favorite play by Shakespeare. It's a huge story about revenge, in the goriest way, with a moral at the end. So Tamara is an evil Goth (early German) queen who marries the Emperor of Rome, but is having an affair with her servant, Aaron. She's out to get revenge on a Roman General, who in turn gets his revenge on her, and it goes on and on. Bartholomew is sort of representing Titus's daughter, who got her hands and tongue cut out so she couldn't squeal on Tamara's sons, but they find another way. Read it if you _really_ want to know. Or find a summary.

_EternalSailorSolarWind – I hope you got all that…it's more "butt loads of information" Yes, that's what it all means…sort of._

_Hatori Soma – There! You got your fluff! Really, first and foremost, this is a mystery, so the plot comes first. I'm _trying_ to incorporate my CainxRiffness without having it take over _


	11. Wine, Part Four

**Wine, Part Four**

Rain was coming down in torrents, beating heavily against the window to the sitting room in the Hargreaves mansion. Cain was lying on a sofa with his eyes closed, but Riff knew that he wasn't really asleep. Just thinking, sorting thing out in his mind.

"Where was I during each murder?" Cain asked. Rhetorical question. "I had been entertaining guests at dinner when the bench scraper victim was found. She probably died beforehand, when we were in here. The butter knife victim was killed sometime while I was in that cabaret with Oscar. And the soupspoon victim? …I was at a party the night before, and following the trend, that was when he was killed. Each time, I had been socializing in some way, which means that Tamara and or her moor had been in the vicinity at the same time as myself. It would be helpful if I could remember exactly who was there the first two times. But I don't. So you know what I should do?"

Another rhetorical question, but nonetheless, Riff asked, "What, Sir?"

Cain opened his eyes and looked at his butler. "I should go socialize again. It's been obvious that I am waiting for something to happen, so the killer is waiting. I need to become 'complacent', and he'll follow me out. It would be a chance to catch him in the act."

Cain was a good liar—Riff knew this—but his lies often were indelicate. Cain was a bold person, and when he acted, his 'characters' were often bold themselves. Sometimes Riff wondered whether this was the best way to go about things, as often somebody was bound to get hurt. However, it always ended up being the right way. It could both delight and frustrate Riff that only Cain was able to pull this sort of thing off so perfectly.

"A fifteen-year-old is capable of cruelty…"

"Huh?"

"I'm sorry, Sir," Riff said. "I was thinking aloud."

"About what?"

After a moment of thought, he said, "I'm not sure about this…it's more of a bad feeling than anything. But Elsie—"

"You mean that girl," Cain said.

Riff smiled slightly. "Yes, that girl," he confirmed. "She knew about the poison on the knife. She claims she heard it from a hall boy, but…there are other things."

"Like how she leaned around you to open the door."

"And she was in the ironing room, where she didn't belong at all. Scullery maids also work in the kitchen. The lower staff eat separately from the upper staff, especially when there are guests in the house."

"Bartholomew Throckmorton implied that the killer is a man," Cain said. "But he has no _idea_ who it is, or he would have told me. He's assuming that women aren't capable of cold-blooded murder."

"On the contrary…"

"Women aren't as brash as men, so they may think the process through more thoroughly."

Riff and Cain's eyes met for a long moment, and Cain smiled. "Riff, I think we're getting somewhere."

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The feeling the staff and residents had of the still before the storm was well founded. In fact, it was the same night as Riff and Cain's epiphany that a new victim was found. It was another woman, this time found in a park, through which Mrs. Nelson cut on the way back from the market. And instead of calling the police, like any normal citizen, she went straight to tell her master.

Riff watched as Cain leaned over the body. There was a corkscrew driven in through the temple, and blood dried in her hair and on the side of her face.

"Look," Cain said, pointing to her hands. Around the wrists were deep purple bruises. "She was tied up. Of course, it would take time to get this into her skull so efficiently, and they couldn't have her struggling. She was probably also gagged. But there are no signs of either the ropes, nor the gag."

The young earl looked up at Riff. "They couldn't have done this in the park," Riff said. "Too much of a chance of getting caught."

"Of course not," Cain said. "They'd need somewhere private. But instead of leaving her where they killed her, or dumping her in the Thames, they moved her here."

"To what purpose?"

There was a silence as Cain thought for a moment. "They wanted her to be found," he said at last. "There is no other reason why she should be moved to a park. All the victims were of low class, too. Maybe a warning?"

Riff shook his head. "The person who is killing is in the house. They must know that Mrs. Nelson cuts through the park. Everybody knows she does."

"They wanted her, specifically to find her. They knew that through her, everyone else in the house would know and see. This is for one of us. Maybe for myself. Riff, I think it's time we took a closer look at that girl's actions in the past few weeks. People would remember her being where she shouldn't have been, no?"

"I hold onto the schedules I organize. I should look to see if that hall boy really was in your room at the time, too."

Cain nodded. "Let's go tell the police. It's against the law not to report a murder, right?"

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Notes: Sorry I've been gone for so long. I've been getting readjusted to school, so it pretty much works that I get up at six, out the door at seven, and since my hours have changed so drastically, I'm exhausted by nine. As a result, I am getting less and less creative. But never fear! I fully intend to finish, no matter how long it takes!

Um…I made it a little hard again. But really, there should only be a few more chapters. But yes, this is the end of Wine. Happy School Days! (blegh…)

EternalSailorSolarWind – I think the thing about Shakespeare plays is that you have to see it done by people that really know how to read it. You eventually get into the flow of the language, and it's much more interesting (when you choose the right one, that is).

Hatori Soma – this is actually my first mystery. So I'm trying very hard to keep it a mystery.


	12. Tea, Part One

**Tea, Part One**

Cain dreamed that he was staring at his cat. It stared back. A staring contest. Who would blink first? Then he realized he was sitting in about four inches of water, and the rain was still coming down. His couch was very soggy. The cat laughed at him. So he picked up a bottle of wine and threw it at the cat, and it jumped away, yowling that he had cheated.

He woke up to bright sunshine coming in his window. In the hallway a clock chimed ten. Cain sat up in surprise. Why hadn't he been woken up earlier? Riff would have had him up at eight, bathed at dressed by nine.

There was a knock at the door, and one of the footmen peered in. Jennings, the head footman.

"Where's Riff?" Cain asked immediately.

Jennings paused, as if debating whether he should say. "Sick," he said at last.

Cain was somewhere between shocked and appalled. "_Sick_? Riff _never_ gets sick."

"He is today, Sir," Jennings said, cringing. "If there's anything I can—"

Cain cut him off, saying, "Get me something to eat. I don't really care what."

He was out of bed the moment Jennings had shut the door, and rummaging through his wardrobe. In a way, there was some amount of satisfaction at proving to himself that he could do something as simple as getting dressed. It probably had something to do with the fact that he wondered whether most nobles couldn't. At the same time, however, he felt a little ashamed that he was proud that he could do such a simple thing.

Jennings looked like he wanted to stop Cain as the young lord nearly choked on his breakfast, in his hurry to finish eating. In a matter of minutes, Cain was thundering down the stairs, on his way toward the servant's hall. He didn't pay attention when the staff stopped what they were doing and stood at attention.

Riff was lying in bed, looking pale and tired. However, he looked around as Cain entered, and gave a small smile.

"Master Cain," he said. "You shouldn't be down here. Don't you know that it's unbecoming for an earl to be so concerned about a butler?"

Cain gave a small frown. "When have I ever cared?"

Riff gave a small laugh. "I promised your uncle that I would do my best to help you become a proper lord. I see I have yet so fully succeed." He paused, then said, "Don't look so worried. I'm alright. Pretty much."

"You look like _shit_," Cain said. He looked around, then pulled a chair over toward the bed and sat down, before continuing. "And you left that Jennings guy in charge."

"He's the head footman, Sir," Riff said. "He's _always_ in charge in my absence."

"You left him to _dress_ me."

"If I didn't know you would refuse his service, I would have gotten up to do so myself."

"Except that you look like death warmed over."

Another small laugh. "It's not _that_ bad. I'm just one of those people that only gets sick once ever ten years or so. And it hits hard when I _do_. I'll be fine with a little rest."

"Are you sure?" Cain asked.

"I was a medical student at one time, Master Cain. And this kind of thing is elementary," Riff said. "I still expect you to act like a proper English lord, and continue with your day as if your one true love was not on their deathbed."

Cain flinched slightly, wondering whether Riff realized how close to home he had hit. In an attempt to cover his slip and ease a little worry, he said, "I'd give you a kiss, if I thought it would help."

Riff was giving him a strange look. It was a little unnerving, but after a minute, the older man gave a small smile. Riff reached out and gave Cain's fingers a small squeeze.

"Don't worry, I'll be fine."

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Notes: Yikes. It's been a while. However, I've told myself nothing is going to get uploaded until I continue this. It's a rather strange incentive, but since I'm a review whore, it works. And since I've gotten into a new anime, it's very strange flip-flopping between the two completely, bizarrely different styles. And yes, I know that it's a little short, but I thought this would be a cute little ending point. And really, I've read books where chapters are like…a paragraph, so I don't feel _that_ bad. Don't worry, I've got more forming in my head.

This chapter was actually inspired to some extent by the fact that I've had some really bizarre dreams lately. The title came a little from the fact that when I'm sick, my mom always has me drinking tea. It actually seems to work rather well.

EternalSailorSolarWind: Yeah. I just got done with Homecoming, and I'm pooped. Each class works on floats, and we work till one or two in the morning. But the night before (Wednesday) we had a band thing that went till eleven, and then Friday we had the game, and then the Saturday night the dance. Yikes. But I'm back! Yay!

_Hatori Soma: It's actually pretty interesting for _me_ to see how this is unfolding, cause none of this is planned ahead of time. I haven't got much reading done, but I'll try to get the time to look._

_Beautiful Savage: Thank you! And really, I didn't think they worked. As far as I can tell, the most important thing is just to keep hydrated._

_Child-of-the-Waves: I like stories with plots. Randomness bugs me. Actually, I had asked my psychology teacher earlier why there weren't many women serial killers, and that's what she told me._


	13. Tea, Part Two

_This is the part where I bang my head against a wall. I found this updated version today. Yes, March 16, 2007. Three months after it was written. The good part is that I'm over the hump, and can continue. So you get to be glad that I had to print the story out so I can take it to school, cause that's how it was found!!_

** Tea, Part Two**

Cain wasn't really angry at Riff. It was just that he felt left out. And he was angry with himself for being fooled so easily. He had tried to follow Riff's advice about "going on as if your one true love were not on their deathbed", with alarmingly bad results. And now Riff was telling him that he had milked it up, so that he could work without anyone realizing that he was faking it.

Cain knew that Riff was an incredible actor, but so was _he_!

"Don't look at me like that," Riff said, smiling gently. "If it makes you feel any better, I was sick—just not as bad as you thought I was."

Cain was still suspicious.

"Apparently someone had intended to put me out of action for a day, not realizing that I am very close to immune when it comes to most poisons."

"Poisons?" Cain may have been suspicious and somewhat disgruntled, but that didn't mean he wasn't interested.

"Rat poison. In a cup of tea."

"Anyone can buy that," Cain said, getting up and walking to a window. "Which could add to the theory about that girl."

"And the schedules were burned," Riff said.

"You know it was burning for a fact?" Cain asked.

"There were remnants of paper in the fire."

"This person doesn't want anyone to know who was on duty during the past few weeks," Cain said, now starting to pace. "What we wanted was to ask who told that girl about the murders, and the way to check if she was lying or not was to see who was scheduled where. We _know_ that it would be a hall boy, since they empty chamber pots, and…I _know _I'm forgetting something."

"It doesn't usually take this long," Riff said, with another small smile. "You aren't used to having to retain the information for such a long period of time."

"Usually there's some connection between all the victims, but this time it really _does_ seem completely random. It's like someone's doing this to just—" Cain stopped suddenly. "Riff, did you say that Lady Anette knew my father?"

"Yes, Sir."

Cain closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall.

"Number three is The Empress."

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Cain had been pale for the last two days, and Riff knew that it was not because he was getting a cold. The young lord had been lacking sleep, and spent a lot of time staring out into the winter rain. Riff knew that the younger man was trying to sort everything out in his mind, and when that happened there was not much Riff could do for him except keep him supplied with tea and be by Cain's side, in order to help at a moment's notice.

"Riff."

"Yes, Sir?"

Cain looked up at his butler. "You like me, right?"

Riff wasn't entirely sure he heard right at first. After a moment of shocked silence, he responded. "Of course, Master Cain."

And then Riff found his second least favorite expression of Cain's. His lord just sat there, staring straight at him, almost expectantly. His eyes seemed bigger, and for a moment Riff was scared Cain was actually batting his eyes on purpose. He was obviously waiting for Riff to say something, and Riff was entirely unsure how to react. It was almost like—

"Riff…"

—puppy eyes.

"Weh?" Not quite what he had intended to say, but somehow still served its purpose.

"Will you come here?"

Was Cain cheating? Why was he thinking of this like a game?

As Riff came closer, he answered his own question. Because, though he didn't want it to be a game, he needed it to be. Because Riff knew that with every possessive gesture, with nearly every touch, even, Cain was feeling exactly the same as Riff. Because this whole thing could end up in disaster for both of them—because if any of Cain's relatives found out, they could take legal action against Riff, forbidding the two of them to see each other again. And then? Would they hide the disgrace with a marriage, thus causing Cain any more hurt?

All these reasons, however, didn't make resisting any easier when Cain grabbed him and locked his mouth onto Riff's own.

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Notes: Holy moley! I actually forgot parts of my own story—I had to go back to read the previous chapters! That's not good! And am I the only one to notice the pathetic new-story frequency for Count Cain? (how do you think I get inspired?!) But I'm very glad I reread this chapter again before posting it. There were a few things that were worded in a way I didn't like. And yes, I'm stopping here for now.

I finally got the third Godchild (the scanlations I had ended at the second). And I want to _hit_ Kaori Yuki. The Riff/Cain scene was all set up…and…she didn't draw it in. This is beyond suffocation.

Hatori Soma – RiffxCain finally. Cause the new book pissed me off. I've decided it's about time.

_Amethyst-Eyed Koneko – I think there's a little knowledge, but Riff would still have the fear of being a pedophile (Cain's still seventeen o.O). _

_EternalSailorSolarWind – yeah. I'm sorry that updates are so slow. There's a little of the "forcing myself to write". I've gotten in Ouran High School Host Club, and in the meantime trying to get ready for Youmacon. However, I got the new Cain book, which can put me back into the swing, Youmacon is over, and on top of it, my best friend discovered the joy of Count Cain. She only read the first Godchild, and had the "are those two gay??" Which is very cool. Yay, motivation!_

_Oshayo – of course he's worried! It's just more fun that way!_

_Beautiful Savage – Thank you. I'm trying to finish. I would be proud, cause that would make _two_ multi-chapter stories finished for me. Which shouldn't be that hard, right? Cause things are starting to really get wrapped up._

_Child-of-the-Waves – Of course women think more than men! And yeah…they both sort of picked up. They've got problems with social codes, that's all!_

_AnimeJo – I prefer to do the research, cause every once and a while, you find a person who knows the material is wrong. It's really fun to learn something in the process of writing, too._


	14. Potatoes, Part One

_READ THE LAST CHAPTER!! IT IS DIFFERENT IN A VERY IMPORTANT WAY!!! THANK YOU!!!_

**Potatoes, Part One**

Cain could tell Riff was upset. All semblance of propriety had been thrown out the window at Cain's move. Clothes were now slightly wrinkled, and his butler's hair was slightly mussed from hands running through it. Now Cain was sitting on the sofa, his hand hiding half his face, but still watching the older man. Riff himself was leaning on a window, staring out at the rain.

"Riff—"

"We're going to get in _so_ much trouble if somebody finds out."

"_That's_ all you're worrying about?" Cain couldn't hide his surprised, and even more his relief. "There's not even anything to really be caught at!"

"There's something to be caught at, believe me," Riff said, finally looking around. "Starting with the obvious. There's also the fact that you're not even eighteen yet, despite how you act. And what about class? You're my _employer_. You _know_ how your family would react."

"I could care less what they think. Unless you feel whored, or that I took advantage of our situation—"

"People could very well think the opposite."

"—And it's not like anyone has to find out."

Riff finally gave a small, if somewhat frustrated smile. "You're not making this any easier."

Cain turned away, smiling in a would-be-innocent way. "I'm quite sure I don't know what you're talking about."

"Master Cain—"

"Don't," Cain said. "Not under this kind of circumstance. It feels dirty."

"Huh?"

"I feel like a dirty old man when you call me that in this situation."

Riff laughed, and Cain realized the irony of what he just said. Even after Riff was done laughing, they just looked at each other for a few moments. It was suddenly much less tense, and Riff turned back to the window for only another moment, as if weighing the pros and cons.

"I guess we'll just have to be careful," he said, when he looked back at Cain.

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"We should go back to the beginning."

Riff looked up from where he had been writing for Cain.

"The beginning?"

"The first victim was found with a spoon in his windpipe, and this was reported to the police. Except that we can't assume this. We don't know who found the body, when, where, and the police got to look first," Cain said. "We started this from the middle. Except that it didn't seem like the middle, because it _felt_ like the beginning, because that's where I _always_ start from."

"What are you suggesting, Sir?" Riff asked. However, he already knew.

"We're going to the graveyard."

"Master Cain, this is becoming a bad pattern. Have you no respect for the dead?"

Cain walked up behind the older man and put his arms around his shoulders, and rested his chin on a shoulder.

"Of course I do," he said. "Or else I wouldn't bother."

"We're going to get arrested as grave robbers someday."

Cain frowned slightly, and said, "You've been rather argumentative lately."

"It's only for your own good," Riff said, and pressed a kiss to the young earl's temple.

"So you'll help me." It wasn't really a question.

"You know I will."

Cain studied what Riff had written for him for a moment. Then Riff saw a familiar expression cross the younger man's face. Something had just clicked into place somewhere. Cain grabbed the pen from Riff's hand, and started scribbling as hard as he could across the most recent victim. The only way he was able to stop him was by snatching the pen back.

"Master Cain, what—"

"That person doesn't fit!"

"Doesn't—"

"I take that back, I'm not sure. We'll know tonight, when we're done at the graveyard."

Riff worried slightly at the furiously determined triumph on Cain's face.

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Notes: OMG! I'M BACK!! Yes, I am very happy. This is the first think I've written since the brain-ninja in November. I actually had to print out my entire story, read it, and make as short notes as possible. I started with a timeline, and finding another specific pattern. Which will be explained, as soon as I find my biology notes.

It was strange reading the notes from previous chapters, cause it was like reading only one side of a chatroom conversation. I was thinking "What the Hell am I talking about?!" I think I should stop putting such random notes at the end of my chapters.

Okay, as always, tell me if they start drifting from ICness. Tis very important to me, since I haven't written in a while, and it's now also a romance (btw, you won't see _tons_ of that, since I really do want this to be a mystery, first and foremost.)


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